


With every broken bone I swear I lived

by Fake_Brit



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellamy is a dork in love, Clarke is dealing with Abby's death-sort of, Drunk!Clarke, F/M, Not 1x10 compliant, Post 1x09, i don't know what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 14:52:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2585381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fake_Brit/pseuds/Fake_Brit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She'd purred at him. Clarke Griffin had freaking purred at him.<br/>Clarke Griffin did not purr at people. (Or, well, not at him – definitely not him – but that's another issue)<br/>Or, the one where Clarke gets drunk over Abby's death and Bellamy has a gigantic crush</p>
            </blockquote>





	With every broken bone I swear I lived

**Author's Note:**

> I seem to have a thing for One Republic lately. Whoops. My own personal headcanon: these two had a thing going on before We are grounders II and this was supposed to be how that thing started. (In a way, it still is) Happy reading. Ps: thanks for the comments and kudos on If I lose myself, you guys are the best

Bellamy had no idea how it had started, really. He just knew that ever since they came back from the bunker he and Clarke had gotten closer.  
“I need you,” she'd said. In the time they had known each other, she'd always looked at him with angry eyes. In that moment her eyes had been pleading. Please, please don't die. I beg you stay alive. You're the only one that understands. The only one that knows who Clarke Griffin really is.  
Even now, the look she'd given him made him shiver from head to toe. She'd said, “I need you,” he was stuck on those three words.  
Jesus, Bell. Get your love needing crap together, he thought.  
When they ran into each other now she still acted tough. She was Clarke, after all. He'd expect no less.  
“Clarke wants to see ya,” O told him later that day.  
He shot up, his body burning with worry. “Is everything alright?” he asked, voice gloom. His leader voice.  
O shrugged. She seemed fine. Not worried, scared or harmed.  
What the hell, Princess?  
He started running toward the dropship. She might need supplies.  
He took a deep breath before stepping in.  
“Hey, Princess. Were you starting to miss me?” Look careless. Look smug. Look proud. Look like she didn't shake you, he chantend over and over in his head.  
“Maybe,” she allowed. She was grinning, however faintly.  
“What's up?” He asked, voice tense.  
Clarke shifted her weight on her left foot and then on the right. She never moved nervously. He swallowed. Something was wrong. As in, epic proportion kind of wrong.  
Bellamy moved without realising it. He was behind her in a heartbeat.  
“Is it your mum again?” He murmured, voice soft, as he hugged her from behind. It reminded him of how he used to cuddle Octavia after a nightmare.  
He could feel her breathing – identify the way she took air in and then stopped, as if a weight were in the way of what she was trying to let out.  
He felt like he was about to witness Clarke shattering in his arms, and that kind of made him feel like getting shattered in gazillions of sharp pieces himself.  
When Octavia said the Princess wanted to see him Clarke crying here eyes out on his sleeve had flashed before his eyes and he just...Ugh. Man up, Blake. You feel something for the Princess. Spit. It. Out.  
Clarke stammered, “N-no. Why d'you think that?”  
“Dunno . Guess I'm sorta good at being cried on,” he joked.  
Clarke laughed. It wasn't forced – like something she might do to reassure everyone that she wasn't going to go mental on them.  
It was deep and carefree and wild like her. His heart beat in tune with the sound. This girl was gonna be the death of him and... Hell, she was already messing him up by bringing cheesy-as-shit phrases such as this to his mouth.  
“Glad to hear that,” she muttered. Then, in a lower voice: “Think I'm gonna use you as a pillow, too, next time we head out for supplies. You mind?”  
What. The. Actual. Fuck. She hadn't just thrown an innuendo, had she? She couldn't have. Nopity nope. He had to be mistaken big time. Or dtunk, which would label this as a hallucination and nothing more.  
Okay, Bell. Breathe in and out. Count to ten. You're just gonna head out like you'd do after a normal supplies request. And, of course, you're not mentioning this to anybody. Ever.  
“So, what, Bell? You just gonna stare?” Her voice was so low he thought she couldn't even hear herself. “You're not gonna comfort a recently orphaned teenager?” She purred. And it was so kitten like it was scary. She'd purred at him. Clarke Griffin had freaking purred at him.  
Clarke Griffin did not purr at people. (Or, well, not at him – definitely not him – but that's another issue)  
She was waiting. Crap. Crap. Crap. What should he do now?  
He was not gonna kiss her now. He most definitely was not kissing the girl he'd developped an embarassing crush on like that. Because, right now, she was drunk all the way to a massive hangover.  
Damn it. Also, judging by her swinging figure, it was her fist proper hangover and she sucked at taking alchool – which was probably due to Monty's moonshine, but still. She was going to puke her soul in the dropship in about a couple of hours. Great spectacle to watch, really.  
He had to do something. Like get Monty to throw that stuff away. (And not kiss Clarke right this second. Like, Do not even think about kissing her, since she would kick your ass once sober)  
He swallowed. He was totally fucked.  
Clarke was still looking at him, eyes too bright to be real. It's the booze, he told himself. Don't get sappy.  
“I'm not comforting you, Princess,” he said, voice clear, trying desperately not to smile at her. God knew how she would interpret that. She pouted, just as he continued, “I'm not conforting you because a) you'd kick my ass, afterwards; b) I'm not taking advantage of you to risk having Finn planning my death – which I personally would like to be as peaceful and far away as possible and c),” he stopped, because his brain was definitely getting sappy . (Stuff like: I'm not admitting that I do want to comfort her while she's drunk. She'd strip me right here on the spot. )He thought, it's not happening, as he practically saw what her lips would feel like on his and his lips began to move, though what he eventually said was, “I know you, Clarke, and you are one of the strongest people in here, – if not the strongest – which is why I am 100% sure you're gonna make it. You are gonna get back on your feet, because you know what'd happen otherwise?” He was pretty sure he was about to screw himself over right now, but Clarke needed to hear this. For her own sake. For the camp's.  
Clarke had stopped moving on the other side of the dropship and her face had turned greenish. Scratch a couple of hours, she was gonna throw up on the spot. She whispered, no longer flirty, “What?” Her voice was broken and cracking, as if she thought Bellamy was giving her bull, because everything she was in that moment was a bunch of bleeding pieces.  
Bellamy sighed, before answering.  
“We'd fall apart. We wouldn't last another day,” Come on, Bell, she pulled you out of suicidal mode. You owe her. “Back at the bunker, you said you needed me. Hate to break ir to you, but,” his heart slapped his ribs furiously. Say it. One, two, three... “I need you, too,”  
He didn't give her time to master words to reply. As soon as the last word left his mouth, he stormed out of the dropship.  
He vowed that once life got safer on the ground, he would be with her and make sure she'd never feel alone again.

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know, it's confused, probably senseless, but it started during a philosophy lesson and these two would not leave me alone. I hope you enjoyed. Any kind of feedback will be greatly appreciated


End file.
